


Sierra Oscar Sierra

by MsScratch1313



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: (plus everyone's favorite potted plant...in a different form), Ambrollreigns, Castaway AU?, Gen, Island Tropes fo' days, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, deserted island au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-23 23:12:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12518768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsScratch1313/pseuds/MsScratch1313
Summary: The Hounds of Justice find themselves on a deserted island.Island AU, with a pinch of ambrollreigns for flavor.Rated T for swearing and a lil violence.





	Sierra Oscar Sierra

**Author's Note:**

> This one got so far away from me I'm hiring a bounty hunter to track it down. Another fic started as an joke between my mates Kyle and Dev that I took too far. And by too far I mean over two months and 5,500 words of "too far." Oops.
> 
> Anyhooter this is the first time I've written anything remotely shippy (it's bare minimum here but this is new for me, kids) so go easy on me. I'm more of a bromance writing kinda chick. Plus as many island tropes as I could cram. You're welcome.
> 
> This is set pre-betrayal, in some really vague time that probably breaks kayfabe because I'm relatively new to wrestling but want to write about the bby shield boys
> 
> AU: Castaway but it's the Shield and it's kinda gay

Seth was the first to arise; unperturbed in his still half awake state.

 _Oh hey look, the ocean,_ he thought, rubbing the crud out of his eyes. Followed by, _wait, why the fuck is the ocean in my hotel room?_

A quick look around revealed several things: his shield mates lying in the sand, their luggage carelessly piled close by, and the beach they were on _sure as hell wasn’t their hotel room._

“Roman, Dean! Wake up!” he hissed.

“Wassup?” Roman mumbled, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.  He too, looked around them, before turning back to Seth with a confused look. “We get drunk?”

“Don't think so,” Seth replied, shaking his head. “I thought we were headed to the hotel? Do you remember anything? Dean?”

Their only response was Dean rolling over in the sand.

“Dean,” Seth repeated.

“Mmmgh.”

“Goddammit Dean, we’re stranded on an island, get the hell up,” Seth ground out, punching his shoulder.

“Well sierra, hotel, I don't give a fuck,” Dean sneered, rubbing at his shoulder. “Couldn’t let me get another minute of sleep huh? Wait a second, where the hell are we?” Dean asked, finally taking a look around.

The Hounds of Justice surveyed the landscape they found themselves on with equally confused looks.

“Well damn,” Dean laughed, getting up and stretching. “Looks like we won a tropical getaway for three. Always wanted a proper vacation.”

“We’re supposed to be on tour,” Roman reminded. “Not much of a vacation. I think we’re just lost.”

“We were supposed to go to an island resort, if I recall. Something about summer press?” Seth shrugged. “I guess we made it to AN island. Not sure if it’s THE island.”

“Well we can't have gotten that far off the beaten path, right? They’re probably looking for us right now.”

“Alright, we’ll just focus on surviving until we get found by a search party,” the Architect planned, pacing through the sand. “We’ll need to build a fire, find shelter, find clear water, go hunting—where’s Dean?”

Seth and Roman both looked over to see Dean running down to the shoreline, pulling his shirt off as he went.

“Now he’s got the right idea,” Roman laughed, pulling his own shirt over his head. Seth sputtered and blushed, prompting Roman to grab his hand and drag him down to the water himself.

* * *

“A little more to the right! No, your other right! Right there!” Dean hollered.

“I still can't reach it!” Seth yelled, from his perch on Roman’s shoulders. Roman was holding tightly to his ankles while he reached for the top of the palm tree.

“Are you kidding me?” Dean yelled back.

Roman shifted his shoulders up, and Seth stretched as far as he could, but he still couldn't reach the coconuts. Seth let out a groan of frustration, grabbing onto the tree for balance.

“It's no use man, I can’t reach it,” Seth yelled down. Dean only blinked in response, staring up at the tree in thought.

“Yo Rome, how much can you deadlift?” Dean questioned.

“Enough,” Roman grunted. “Why?”

“Seth, hug that tree like it's magnetic brother. Ro, brace yourself,” Dean called, backing up a few paces.

“What? Why— oh _hell no_!” Roman yelled, as Dean kicked off his back, nearly smashing Roman’s face into the tree trunk had he not steadied himself. Seth let out a similar yell as Dean used him as a human ladder, scrambling up to the top of the palm tree like a jeans-wearing monkey.

“Got em!” Dean hollered, knocking a few coconuts loose and throwing them down.

“ _Get your crotch out of my face!”_ Seth shouted, clinging to the tree like a sloth with a bleach job.

“Why? I thought you liked having my crotch in your face?” Dean cooed.

“I’m going to fucking powerbomb you both,” Roman growled, shaking from the effort of lifting his shield mates.

* * *

“That’s gotta be the ugliest sandcastle I've ever seen, Seth. You should be ashamed,” Roman chuckled, sitting down next to Seth who was methodically packing wet sand together. It resembled a hill with a stick coming out of the top, surrounded by a very uneven wall.

“Screw you,” Seth huffed. “Do you know how hard it is to make one without a bucket?”

“Aren't you an Architect?”

The fastball of wet sand that slammed into Roman’s face in response made him laugh even harder.

* * *

“How exactly are we going to make a fire anyway?” Roman considered, dumping another armful of kindling and sticks onto the pile they had gathered.

“Don’t you just, rub two sticks together? Or something?” Seth replied with a shrug. “Shouldn’t be that hard.”

* * *

“I take it back, this is fucking hard,” Seth snarled, tossing the snapped sticks into the pile of broken ones surrounding him.

“You’ve been at this forever man,” Roman sympathized, “Take a breather.”

“I can’t believe that none of us had matches in our bags. Or a lighter, or something,” Seth gritted, kicking out at some of the discarded sticks in anger.

“Sorry man, I got rid of mine when I quit smoking,” Dean said remorsefully. “Wait a sec, do you have all your gear packed?”

“Yes?” Seth responded, unsure of what Dean could be planning.

“Give me 10,” Dean called out, jogging over to their luggage.

* * *

10 minutes, the batteries of Roman’s hair dryer, some coat hanger wire, some of Dean’s ace tape, and some body oil that Seth reluctantly parted with later, Dean had started a fire.

“That’s actually really impressive,” Roman noted, watching Dean throw more chunks of wood onto the inferno.

“How the actual hell,” Seth wondered, still entranced by Dean’s MacGyver-level creation.

“I watch a lot of Survivorman,” Dean said, nonchalantly.

* * *

“God this is so uncomfortable. I’m never complaining about a shitty hotel room again,” Seth whined, curling up tighter to Roman’s side. The sand beneath them wasn't that gritty, but the ground wasn't exactly a plush mattress either.

“C’mon Sethie, it ain't so bad,” Dean snorted on the other side of Roman, “I once slept on a park bench for like, two weeks when I was a teenager. Now _that_ was uncomfortable.” Seth felt Roman subtly pull Dean closer like he always did whenever Dean mentioned his childhood. “Now we got this nice fire going and you guys are with me. I couldn't be happier.”

“And we couldn't be either,” Roman replied, tucking his chin down to rest on Dean’s unruly hair. “Right Seth?”

“Yeah,” Seth murmured, reaching out to grasp Dean’s forearm. “Nowhere else I'd rather be.”

They fell asleep under the stars in a massive tangle of limbs, content in their closeness.

* * *

“Will you friggin’ hold still? Sheesh,” Seth muttered, smearing charcoal onto Dean’s face in abstract swirls. “I don't understand why we gotta do this.”

“Oh, come on! Where’s your island spirit Rollins?” Dean teased, his grin further skewing the warpaint. “If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna go all in.” ‘All in,’ to Dean, meant tearing their cargos into shorts and wearing some Shield bandanas as armbands and headgear. (“Functional and fashionable,” Dean had claimed.)

“Alright, you’re done,” Seth declared, hoping Dean appreciated his effort. “Roman, you’re up next.”

“Nah, he’s already tribal-looking enough,” Dean cut in, as Roman made his way over.

“Dude, that’s racist,” Seth scowled.

“I meant his big ass tattoo!” Dean laughed, holding his hands up in surrender.

“You mean this one?” Roman rumbled, wrapping his right arm around Dean in a chokehold.

Dean made a show of struggling pitifully against Roman, getting Seth and Rome to laugh at his antics. When he was released, however, he immediately spun around and tackled Roman, sending both rolling in the sand.

Seth laughed and joined in, sliding across the beach as a stand in referee.

They ended up a sandy, sweaty mess, laughing and cheering and victorious.

* * *

“This is Mitch,” Dean presented, holding said person in his hands.

“Where did you find a volleyball?” Seth said in wonder. They had yet to see any signs of civilization, but if Dean had found a volleyball that meant—

“This is _Mitch,_ ” Dean hissed, upset. “He’s not a volleyball, he’s my _friend."_

“Hi Mitch,” Roman said without a single hint of insincerity. “Glad you’re keeping Dean company.”

“Can we talk for a sec, Ro? Just you and I?” Seth asked, interrupting any further conversation with the ball. Dean scowled, but let Seth drag Roman away and out of earshot.

“Why do you always appease him?!” Seth demanded, waving in Dean’s direction. “He’s talking to a volleyball for crying out loud, why are you letting him act crazy?!”

“Why not?” Roman shrugged. “He’s always been a little crazy. But that’s just Dean. Wouldn't have him any other way.”

“But it's a _volleyball.”_

“And it makes him happy, so let him have it Seth.”

“...fine.”

* * *

“Ow, shit.”

Roman looked over from where he was hacking at a coconut with a sharp rock to see Seth cradling his left hand over his coconut, his own rock on the ground beside him, blood pooling in his palm.

“Put pressure on it babe,” Roman urged, kneeling down in front of Seth. Seth applied pressure, wincing as he did so.

“How deep do you think it is?” Roman asked, wrapping his own hands around Seth’s.

“Not that deep,” Seth murmured. “Hopefully.” They both watched as blood leaked out from between Seth’s hands, leaving little red stains in the sand.

“I got it,” Roman said, standing up. Seth watched him suddenly take off his tank top, enthralled, but confused.

From somewhere behind Seth, Dean whistled.

“Take a picture Dean, it’ll last longer,” Roman laughed, tearing the shirt apart in his hands. He then tore it further into strips, and, gently prying Seth’s hands apart, wrapped his cut palm with one.

“There,” Roman declared, tying the wrap securely. He bent down and gently kissed the makeshift bandage. “Better?”

“Always,” Seth smiled, resting his good hand on Roman’s cheek. “Thanks Rome.”

* * *

“We still need to find fresh water,” Seth noted, surveying what supplies they had collected.

“Mitch knows where we can find some.”

“For the love of god Dean, Mitch is a—”

“Very good friend,” Roman interrupted, throwing a hand over Seth’s mouth.

A short trek through the jungle later, and the Shield (plus Mitch) found themselves sitting on the bank of a freshwater stream.

“His dumb luck never ceases to amaze me,” Seth grumbled, watching Dean walk along the river, chatting with Mitch. “No way that stupid volleyball knew the landscape.”

“You’re just jealous,” Roman teased. “You’re crabby because he’s spending time with Mitch and not you.”

“It's a _volleyball, Ro._ ”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

* * *

“What the hell was that?” Dean hissed, stopping Seth from going any further through the path they had beat into the jungle brush.

“What was what?” Seth said, looking around.

Some ungodly noise, like a cross between a roar and a screech, sounded out, making both Shield members freeze up in panic.

“ _That!”_ Dean whispered, shaking off the fear and dragging Seth behind a rock formation close by. “What the hell was that?!”

“I don't know!” Seth hissed back, risking a peek around the rock, before ducking back quickly.

“Where’s Roman when you need him,” Dean muttered, as another shrill sounded out. “He’s better at all this tropical stuff.”

“That’s racist,” Seth said with a sharp elbow.

“I meant he’s from Florida, numbnuts.”

“Well it's not like he’s from the Everglades— _shit!”_ Seth breathed, as another terrible sound resounded.

“I wasn't exactly planning on going out this way,” Dean began, turning Seth to look him dead in the eyes. “But I want you to know that I’ve always hated your taste in music.”

“I love you too—wait what? What do you mean you’ve always hated—oh god is it _coming closer?!_ ” Seth whispers as footsteps could be heard approaching.

“Hi guys,” Roman interrupted, his familiar frame appearing from around the pile of rocks. “What are you doing?”

“Get down!” Seth said, pulling on Roman’s tattooed arm. “There’s something out there!”

Whatever mysterious predator was, in fact, out there took that moment to scream again.

“Jesus,” Roman breathed.

“Quick, Roman, yell back at it!”

“I'm sorry, what?”

“You know,” Seth urged, “The thing you do in the ring? Before a spear?”

“That’s actually the dumbest idea,” Dean laughed.

“Well it's the only one I've got!” Seth bit. “Unless you want to try to fight whatever that is!” The screech echoed right on cue.

“Okay,” Roman hastily agreed, standing up and walking around the rock pile. Seth and Dean peeked up from behind to watch.

Roman breathed deep, swinging his arms out wildly while bellowing out a war cry that would have sent an opponent scrambling back up the ramp, had he been in the ring.

A fluttering, shrieking mass of feathers (what was it, a peacock from hell?) flew out of a tree nearby, letting out that ungodly sound as it went.

“It was a bird, idiots,” huffed Roman.

“Awwwwh,” Dean whined, despondent. “I really wanted to see you spear Bigfoot.”

* * *

“You’re jealous.”

“I am not.”

“You are and it’s adorable.”

Roman and Seth sat poking at the fire, while they watched Dean in the distance sitting and chatting with Mitch.

“Whatever,” Seth dismissed, watching the sparks fly before looking back out at Dean. “I wonder what he’s even saying?”

* * *

“—and he’s super tough looking but he’s really just a big teddy bear, I swear. He looks like such a badass putting people through tables and stuff, but damn if he ain't a big softie,” Dean whispered to Mitch. “And Seth is super smart, and can do all these cool acrobatic moves. People call us ‘wrestling soulmates,’ isn't that crazy?”

“I just love them both a ton, y’know? Sorry to get all gushy on ya, Mitch.”

“Well hey don't be telling the fans that, ok? They don't need to know I'm a sap.”

“Nah, I'm kidding, I know you wouldn't.”

“Thanks Mitch.”

* * *

“I’m not sleeping with the fucking volleyball,” Seth spat.

“It’s _Mitch,_ ” Dean hissed. “And he’ll get cold!”

“Oh my god,” Seth bemoaned, “They warned us you know. ‘It’s not really a gimmick.’ No, of course you had to be actually nuts.”

“Mitch can sleep with us,” Roman invited, ignoring Seth’s rant entirely.

“No, he can't!”

“Do you want to sleep somewhere else then Seth?” Roman asked with a tone chock full of Don’t-Fuck-With-Me.

“I—no, no I want to sleep here,” Seth mumbled. He couldn't resist Dean’s grade-A puppy dog eyes anyway. “Mitch can stay.”

“Thanks Seth,” Dean whispered, leaning over and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

* * *

Seth wasn't jealous. _He wasn't._

He couldn't be, not when he was sitting next to the stupid thing, waiting for Roman and Dean to get back with some supplies, right?

Except he wanted to be the only one waiting. The only one they were looking forward to seeing when they returned.

 _The volleyball isn't even a person, Seth,_ part of his brain chided.

 _Fuck that stupid volleyball,_ the other part of his brain screamed.

He stole a glance at Mitch. Dean had found some sharpies in their bags left over from autograph sessions and had given the volleyball some sort of smiley face.

A smiley face Seth wanted to _punch._

“What Dean doesn't know won't hurt him, huh?” Seth muttered, reaching over to pick up the ball and sneering at his stupid inked on face.

 _Hey fuck you too, Crossfit Weasel Jesus,_ said a voice.

Seth was suddenly tremendously glad Roman and Dean weren't around to see him holler and drop the seemingly mundane volleyball in fear.

* * *

“Ro, check it out! There’s a cave!” Dean shouted, immediately stepping inside. “Maybe we’ll find some crabs or something.”

“Or maybe an angry dragon,” Roman joked, ducking his head into what turned out to be a relatively spacious cavern.

“We could take out a dragon no problem,” Dean assured, searching around the driftwood.

The rock suddenly shook with the force of the thunder pealing outside; a flash of lightning illuminating the crevices of the cave.

“See? Now you’ve pissed off the dragon,” Roman laughed, wrapping his arms around Dean’s middle.

* * *

“Where the hell are they?!” a very damp Seth Rollins demanded while tucked under a cluster of trees.

 _Maybe they left you for good,_ a sinister voice snickered.

“Fuck off,” Seth grunted, sneezing. The fire had sputtered out under the assault of the sudden downpour, and Seth was left shivering under what cover he could find. “You’re not even real.”

A gust of wind suddenly rolled the volleyball across the sand, colliding with Seth’s thigh, who looked down at his face in terror.

 _Am I, Seth?_ the voice taunted, as thunder roared and lightning flashed, illuminating the menacing marker mug of his rounded rival.

“Shut up,” Seth sneered weakly, as he tried to clear his face of the wet hair plastered to it.

_They headed off towards the bluff you know. Probably ended up in a cave._

“You think so?” Seth asked, trying his best to keep his teeth from chattering.

_I’d bet on it. I could show you where they went._

“You’d be willing to help me?” Seth asked with astonishment.

 _Anything to not have to deal with your bitching for a night,_ Mitch snickered.

* * *

“Think he’ll be okay without us?” Dean inquired, shoving his face into Roman’s neck.

“Seth’s a big boy,” Roman assured, brushing through Dean’s greasy hair. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. We’ll climb back up as soon as the rain lets up babe. It’s too dangerous right now. Seth’d kill us if we broke an ankle trying to get back up to him.”

“M’kay,” Dean whispered, trying to absorb Roman’s body heat. He squished in closer, hoping Seth was keeping dry somewhere back at their base camp.

* * *

 

“Fucking _ow,_ ” Seth hissed, as the third—the THIRD—tree branch sprung back and smacked him in the face.

He resolutely ignored the grating cackle from the volleyball cradled in his arms.

The mud had turned the earth into a veritable Slip-n-Slide, and every step Seth took was a chance at being dragged down into it. He found himself windmilling more than once, praying that the goddamn rain would just let up already.

“You had better not be fucking with me,” Seth growled, trudging further in the direction Mitch had dictated. His only reply was another grinding laugh from the volleyball as he continued his fight through the storm.

* * *

 

“BIG DOG! JACKASS! WHERE ARE YOU?!”

“Is that Seth?” Roman asked, looking incredulously towards the mouth of the cave. It was hard to hear over the noise of the waves and rain hammering the shore.

“I dunno,” Dean shrugged, getting up to investigate. He cupped his hands around his mouth before yelling “OVER HERE, EDGELORD!” out into the night.

Dean had seconds to prepare before Seth stumbled in, tripping over the driftwood and nearly taking Dean the hell out.

“Hello to you too, Rollins,” Dean laughed, shouldering Seth’s weight. “Enjoy your shower?”

“Screw you man,” Seth snorted, letting the volleyball fall out of his hands. He shook his hair out next to Dean just to spite him.

“You went all the way here in the damn rain?” Roman wondered, coming over to give Seth an inspection. “You’re freezing man, Jesus.”

“Didn’t want to be alone,” Seth explained, trying to wipe his face off with little success. “Didn’t want you guys alone either. I brought the fire starter,” Seth explained, fishing it out of his pockets.

“Thank god,” Dean moaned, snatching it out of Seth’s hands and working on gathering up the driftwood. “I’m sure you slid down here just fine, but we’re stuck down here until the rain stops.”

“Come on,” Roman murmured, tugging on Seth’s waterlogged shirt. “Let’s get you warmed up.”

Though the storm raged outside, the Shield were safe in each other’s arms for another night.

(Mitch didn’t like being left out very much.)

* * *

 

“ _I swear to God Rome, it’s alive!”_

“You don't believe in God,” Roman hummed, remaining calm where Seth only felt panic.

“I don't—damn it Roman _listen to me!”_ Seth demanded, pounding the sand around him in frustration, having relocated back to base camp when morning came.

“You know I love you Seth, but your neurosis is killing me over here,” Roman grunted, slowly sharpening a homemade spear.

Seth took a deep breath, pushing a few wild curls of dark brown hair back behind his ear. Sure, Roman was the “unshakable” member of the Shield; which was both grounding for Seth, and gave him the urge to punch Roman in the face.

(And then kiss him. You know, apologetically.)

“Ok, one more time, just bear with me, alright? You know I'm only watching out for us.”

Roman grunted a noncommittal noise that Seth took as _yes Seth, your paranoia has always been for good reason, please continue._

“The volleyball talks Rome, it actually _talks._ ”

Roman paused in his whittling to furrow his eyebrows at Seth, who awaited his response with bated breath.

“Are you feeling alright Seth? Have you been sleeping okay?” Roman said, his voice full of concern.

“I’m fine,” Seth sighed. He was weak to a Roman in full Dad Mode. “I think?”

“Maybe the island’s getting to you. Why don't you go take a nap?”

“Alright,” Seth surrendered. Maybe he was getting a little island crazy.

* * *

_Rise and shine, you power ranger wannabe._

Seth’s eyes snapped open at the sound of that absolutely enraging voice.

And no, he totally, absolutely, did not under any circumstances scream at the sight of Mitch right in his _face._

Behind him, Dean sat up at the sound of screaming, eyes darting wildly to find an unseen attacker.

“Jesus Seth, where’s the fuckin’ fire?”

“Why is this _thing_ here?” Seth demanded, pointing at the terrifying sight of the volleyball.

“Oh,” Dean said, “Roman said you weren't sleeping too well so I put Mitch there to help you sleep. Thought we’d join in on naptime.”

Seth just stares at the stupid white ball, unsure of what to say.

“Thanks,” he eventually replies, through gritted teeth.

* * *

Seth stealthily strode across the sand, careful not to wake up the sleeping forms of his brothers-in-arms. Night had fallen and he had used the darkness to sneak off with the object of his despisal.

 _Mitch_.

“Alright, just who the hell are you?” Seth whispered, glaring at the terribly drawn on and slightly smudged face of the volleyball. He held it away from him like it was a dangerous animal, ready to claw him.

 _Mitch,_ said the round, squishy ball. _But you already knew that, didn’t you, jackass?_

“I’m hallucinating,” Seth reassured himself, holding the ball up with one hand to inspect it. “I'm dreaming, I'm seeing things...hell, maybe I took a knock in the ring and the island isn't real at all.”

 _This ain't LOST, slimeball,_ cackled that eerie voice. _You’re going crazy, you’re going crazy,_ it chanted, mockingly.

 **“Shut up,”** Seth grated, wanting nothing more than to spike it so hard it burned up in the atmosphere. “How can you even talk?”

_Wouldn't you like to know._

“I would! What the fuck is your problem with me?!” Seth crushed the ball between his hands, feeling a little joy when the sides of it pressed in a little bit.

_You’re not good enough for them._

“What?”

_You heard me. They deserve better. You’re weak, Seth Rollins. Pathetic. You think they love you? How could they?_

“No,” Seth said, dropping the ball and watching it roll back, stopping with its Sharpie smirk still looking at him. “You’re wrong.”

_Am I? I’m already replacing you. Dean should be spending time with someone who cares._

“I care,” Seth snapped, fists clenching, “I care so fucking much.” He paced closer to shadow the ball, reaching into his pocket to grip the sharpened rock he had taken with him. “Don't you dare tell me I don't. We could break up to-fucking-morrow and they’d still be my brothers. My family.”

 _You sure? Maybe you will break up tomorrow. I don't think Dean will like you threatening his_ _best_ _friend behind his back,_ Mitch sneered.

“Then I guess we just can't let him find out, can we?” Seth said, using the voice he normally reserved for promos from an “undisclosed location.” He pulled the sharpened rock out, gripping it like a knife.

 _What do you think you’re doing—NO!_ Mitch screamed, as Seth dropped to one knee and slammed the rock into the ball. A small puncture was made, indicated by a quiet _hssss_ noise, and Seth swung again and again to make some more.

He stood back up, looking down at the slowly collapsing ball, watching its face start to droop.

 _Fuuuuk you Rollinssss,_ the volleyball slurred, its marker mouth collapsing. _‘Mmm betterrrr than youuuuu’ll everrrrr beee—_

 ** _“D_ _ie,_ ”** Seth snarled, executing a vicious Curb Stomp, making the ball instantly flatten with a satisfying _pop!_

* * *

“Hey guys, have you seen Mitch?” Dean asked, interrupting Roman and Seth’s chit chat over the fire.

“Nope,” Roman said, turning over one of the fish he’d (miraculously) speared and was now roasting for breakfast. “I thought he was with you?”

“Nah,” Dean replied. “You seen him Seth?”

“No, sorry,” Seth said, shaking his head. _If there’s a hell, I’m going for this_ , he thought, observing Dean’s reaction.

“Must have rolled off somewhere,” Dean concluded, without a hint of suspicion, much to Seth’s delight. “I'll find him later. What’s new with you guys?” Dean said, plunking down at the fire pit right next to Seth.

Seth knew he should feel guilty, he should feel remorse, he should be begging for forgiveness from the man he loves. Instead, all he felt was rightness, having Dean’s attention all to himself and Roman.

 _Fuck that stupid volleyball,_ he thought, grinning at his brothers.

* * *

“Rome, Seth…”

Roman and Seth look over from where they were playing an intense game of sand-drawn checkers to see Dean approaching, head hung low; cradled in his arms the remains of a deflated, mutilated volleyball.

 _Oh_ **_no_** _,_ Seth thinks. Of course Dean would wander far enough to find where he’d buried Mitch. Of course he would trip over his shallow grave. _Of fucking course._

“What happened Dean?” Roman asks, putting his hands on his shoulder comfortingly.

“Just found him buried like this,” Dean whispers. He’s not gonna cry, (even with the two people he trusts the most, it's too vulnerable an act for Dean) but Seth can tell he’s choking up. It's heartbreaking, and Seth feels like such a scumbag he wants to run down to the shoreline and let the sea take him away.

“I'm sorry uce,” Roman says, giving Dean a hug. “I know he was your friend.”

“Yeah,” Seth manages to spit out, “I’m sorry Dean.”

“But who did it?” Dean wonders, pulling away from Roman’s arms to look at the pathetic sports equipment’s corpse. “There’s only the 3 of us on this island, as far as we know.”

“You know we wouldn't Dean,” Roman rumbles, squeezing Dean’s shoulders. “Right Seth?”

Seth, for all his bravado about being “the Architect” and “the man with a plan,” instantly forgets whatever the hell he was going to say when both Dean and Roman look over at him expectantly.

“I uh, yeah,” Seth responds, shifting uncomfortably. Jesus, he can lie through his teeth about anything else, but for some reason him taking away something Dean liked—a stupid _volleyball_ —makes him feel incredibly guilty.

“Seth,” Roman breathes, “You didn't.”

Seth looks Roman in the eye, but seeing the disappointment on his face, he can't bring himself to reply.

“Don't bullshit me, Rollins,” Dean barks, shoving away from Roman to point at Seth, the ‘Rollins’ making Seth cringe. Dean was already pissed, it seemed. “You hated Mitch. Don't bullshit me.”

“Fine, alright!” Seth shouts, going on the defensive. “I did it. I killed Mitch. He deserved it, Dean. _He deserved it._ ”

That halts Dean in his tracks, as if he didn't expect Seth to plead guilty that fast. (Which to be fair, he probably didn’t. Seth just wants this to be over with as fast as possible.) Dean pauses, lowering that accusing finger, the gears in his head clearly turning, his expression changing from anger incarnate to a smirk that should be labeled as a lethal weapon. Roman looks back and forth, torn between defending Seth and backing Dean.

"I'm going to _murder you_ , Seth Rollins,” Dean growls.

Roman suddenly tenses, barely resisting a shudder, seeing the look on Dean’s face. Dean’s always been animated, but it's as if the Dean he had seen back in FCW, the one with a chip on his shoulder the size of the moon and barbed wire scars that hadn’t faded, had astrally projected onto whatever hunk of rock and sand they had found themselves on.

“And nobody's gonna find your body,” Dean continues, pacing closer to Seth like a predator, “‘Cause I'm gonna bury it right in this _fuckin’ beach_.”

Roman isn't sure whether to laugh or cry at the sudden mental image of himself in Vince’s office, having to sit in front of his desk and say _“I’m sorry Vince, they killed each other over a volleyball, there was nothing I could do—”_

The Authority would be happy, at least.

"Dean, I swear, it was for your own good!" Seth shouts, not willing to back down from any fight.

“You murder my friend and claim it's ‘for my own good?’ That’s rich Seth, even coming from you,” Dean snorts, cracking his knuckles. “My ass, Rollins. Now put up or shut up because—”

“Ambrose! Is that you?”

The Hounds of Justice collectively jump and turn to see none other than Chris Jericho gracefully exit the brush, followed by, oddly enough, Fandango. Both are rocking swim trunks and sunglasses, with Chris exchanging his usual scarf for a brightly colored beach towel. The heat of the moment is lost, the confusion of finding their coworkers defusing whatever was about to go down between brothers.

“Where the hell have you guys been? Management’s been having a field day looking for you all,” Jericho laughs, giving them all an eye over. “What, Reigns decide to give you a tropical tour?”

“That’s racist,” Fandango notes.

“I meant he’s from Florida,” Jericho replies, adjusting his towel-scarf. “Seriously though, where have you been?”

“We’ve been here, on this fucking island!” Seth seethes, his anger from before kicking back up in the face of Jericho’s casual exchange. “How the hell did you even get here?!”

“We walked from the hotel,” Chris supplies. “Y’know, other side of the island, just beyond the river?”

The Shield go dead silent in response, until Seth breaks it with a scream of indignation, spinning on his heels and kicking at the sand behind him. Dean and Roman don't stop him when he walks several paces down the beach, to continue his tantrum.

“Wait a second, I thought you guys didn’t even like each other?” Dean asks, looking from Chris to Fandango.

“We have tans to work on,” Fandango supplies, in his airy whisper-talk. “Obviously. ‘Mania was the past, our beach bodies are the present and future,” he says, as if his words are sage advice.

“So you guys seriously never walked back to the hotel?” The Man of 1004 Holds wonders, clearly amused by the Shield’s predicament. “I heard Uncle Vince wanted someone to prank you guys, but I don’t think he counted on you being that dumb.”

“Oh yeah? Well I'll make sure they dump your bedazzled ass on the shore next time,” Roman threatens, to Chris who is now barely containing his laughter. Beside him, Fandango squints at Roman.

“You’re not even a real justice,” ‘Dango says accusingly. “There, I said it.”

“Fan-DANG-oh,” Dean counters, grinning, “Can I get some movie tickets?”

Chris is quick to grab ‘Dango’s arm and drag him off as he starts his rant ( _It’s Fahn-DAHN-go, you uncultured uggo!)_ shouting something about seeing them back at the hotel as he leads them to the shore. Seth takes that moment to return, looking decidedly less murderous but very much tired and irritated.

“Were we fighting just a minute ago?” Dean asks Seth, who glances over at him wearily.

“Yeah, I killed Mitch, remember?”

“Oh,” Dean breathes. A sad look passes over his face, but he doesn't seem nearly as angry as before. “Why ‘ya do it?”

“He kept taunting me. Talked smack like a pro,” Seth chuckles.

“He _talked_ to you?”

“Yes? He didn't talk to you?”

“Volleyballs don't talk, Seth. I talked to Mitch, but I thought I just made up his replies in here,” Dean explains, rapping his knuckles on his own forehead. “Right?”

“No, he actually _talked to me.”_

The Hounds of Justice look at the remains of Mitch with shared expressions of suspicion and possibly terror.

“Let's get the fuck out of here,” Roman suggests.

“Hell yeah,” Dean agrees, kicking the deflated volleyball somewhere in the distance.

“I call ordering room service,” Seth laughs, beginning the trek to the hotel.

The Shield head off into the jungle for the last time, more than ready to put their island experience behind them, and fight over the hotel room shower.

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus: My friendo Kyle discovered that there's a whole Full House episode with a similar plot to this. (Unintentional plagiarism, I swear!) So enjoy his ~~terrible~~ fanedits for this fic [here.](http://machine-gunn-eddie.tumblr.com/post/166840277731/so-i-made-this-fanfic-that-was-the-shield-lost-on)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Feel free to throw your thoughts down in the comments, or just tell me what you ate for breakfast. If you hit the kudos I'll assume you didn't eat breakfast. Make some toast, man!
> 
> Check my profile for my ff.net info or come say hi over on my [tumblr.](http://machine-gunn-eddie.tumblr.com/)


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